


Caught by the Light

by Muccamukk



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Fellowship of the Ring, Lack of Communication, M/M, Pining, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5649409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lot of unexpected things happened at the Council of Elrond, but not even the Wise could have predicted this.</p><p>Indeed, it takes Gimli the entire journey to Lothlórien to truly understand its meaning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MangoTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangoTea/gifts).



Gimli blinked, half raising his hand to shield against the blaze of light and colour, before realising what had happened–that the flash hadn't been the sun caught on glass or steel or even a clear, deep gem– and letting it fall. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that only made the colours reverse, and did not block the light.

"Son?" Glóin asked, pausing at the edge of the balcony, but Gimli shook his head and moved to follow his father. As they took their seats, Gimli swept the room for Khazâd, but saw none. Of course there were none. Here in these Elvish halls what could he hope to find but only Elfkin and a brace of Men? Therefore, he reasoned, he should not be feeling this, or seeing this; it was a Khuzdul matter reserved for his own kind.

And yet one Elf in particular–unfamiliar to him, yet dressed in the green and brown of the woodland folk that neighboured the Lonely Mountain–kept drawing his eyes. At first, Gimli thought he merely sat in a particular shaft of sunlight, which brightened him, but the light fell evenly. The matter was Gimli's own vision, then, taking in the light and colour surrounding the Elf more vividly, until he looked to be enfolded in a rainbow cloak that only Gimli could perceive.

Indeed, the whole company seemed brighter and truer than any Gimli had seen. Not just the company, looking down, the fabric of his own sleeves appeared now to be made of the most lustrous silk, not the care-worn wool of travelling dress. The very air smelled sweeter, he thought, or if not sweeter, than somehow more pure. Thrice, Gimli had battled orc or mountain goblins, and the thrill of battle–where every sense sang and the world moved like cooling slag under the bright whirl of his axe–had not made him feel this alive, this aware.

It was exactly, perfectly, and infuriatingly like the songs said it would be.

Gimli suppressed the urge to sink his head into his hands and weep. He would not shame his father or his people. Not in front of this _Elf_ –this elf who had stolen a thing akin to Gimli's breath, but that surely no Elf or Man could either understand or return. This Elf, who sensed Gimli watching, and held his gaze for the briefest moment–a moment, but long enough for Gimli feel as though his heart had stopped.–before Gimli turned away. 

Glóin was looking at him, eyes narrowed.

"Father, who is that?" Gimli asked in a voice too low for even Elf ears to overhear, and pointed with a twitch of his chin.

"Legolas, son of Thranduil of Mirkwood." His father turned away, perhaps assuming that recognising an old rival's kin was what troubled Gimli, or the mere presence of so many Elves about a young Khuzd who had spent most of his years with his own kin. Likely he could not conceive the truth of the matter; such a thing had never happened before, not in all the histories of all the worlds.

Gimli did not correct his father. Instead, he remained silent for the entirety of the council, contemplating what it might mean to at the same moment find one's soulmate and realise that one was utterly damned.


	2. Chapter 2

The main, and perhaps single, mark in Gimli's favour over the next few months was that Legolas turned out to be easy to avoid. The Elf joined every scouting party he could, and when he wasn't away, he stayed strictly with his own kind, while the Khazâd likewise kept company with their kin.

The main, and deeply unsettling, point against him was that the longer Gimli stayed away, the dimmer the world grew. He tried to tell himself that it was simply returning to the way it had been before he'd arrived in this blighted place, and that really he'd lost nothing, but his heart heeded neither this admonishment nor any other. The truth was that the world away from Legolas was a world diminished.

"Do you miss Mother?" he asked Glóin. The evening had almost grown to morning, and the Khazâd had drunk through the remnants of their brandywine in celebration of the party from the Lonely Mountain's last night in Rivendell. Had he not had considerable drink, he would not have asked such a question, not even in his own tongue, but now, swimming in liquor and melancholy, he pressed on. "The air has turned frost and the autumn to winter ere we left the Mountain. Does your world likewise grow grey and cold being parted from her so many months?"

Glóin seemed not to mind his son's impertinence, instead leaning back against the wall and stretching his legs towards the fire. His moustaches drooped as his face softened, and he stared at the flames for a long time before replying. "We learn to do without light and warmth and love when need presses us. Yet we must also know the value of our own hearth, and return to it when we can. The songs say that's why Mahal forged each one of us with an unbreakable chain binding our soul to another's, so that we may not wander too far nor toil all our days alone, but must seek meet company, as he had with his own queen."

Repressing a sigh, Gimli poured them each another drink. In over a century, he had not yet become reconciled with his father's predilection to explain things he'd known since childhood. "Yet do you miss her?" he insisted.

"Aye." Glóin admitted, though his beard twitched a suppressed chuckle. "I do. Yet the memory of her light warms me, and it is not so very cold without her."

That, Gimli reflected, was of very little help to him, faced as he was with a life either spent in the company of a near enemy, or knowing that there existed a world of light and colour that he could never have. He determined that he would endure, regardless of what came, and that no matter how cruel Mahal's bond could be, he would bring shame to neither his father nor his people.

Yet when the morning came and his party was to depart, when Lord Elrond drew him aside and asked him to stay and join the Nine Walkers, Gimli wished he could have been completely sure that he agreed entirely for the sake of duty and to do honour to Durin's Folk, and not because he knew a certain Elf would be travelling with him.

* * *

At first, in the evenings after they set off, Gimli tried to remain near the front of the party, near Aragorn and Tharkûn, but by morning he always seemed to find himself closer to where Legolas held the rearguard. Gimli felt as if he were raw ore in a smelter's oven, and now found he was divided against his will by the heat of the flames and the blows of Mahal's hammer. He could no more have kept to his former vow of indifference than iron could keep to stone.

Or perhaps it was the world that had been forged anew, as Andúril had been, for certainly it now gleamed like fine steel heated and beaten a hundred times.

His father's party had travelled near to this way on their journey to Rivendell, but they may as well have passed through a torn and blasted waste. Now, even in the dark, every leaf shimmered and every rock held a thousand hues as each flake and vain of ore shone out.

And oh, the stars. He knew now why the Elves sang of them so. Had Gimli scattered every fine-cut adamant, ruby and sapphire under the Mountain across black silk, they would not have shone to half the effect of these stars. His heart ached with their beauty, and he wished he had the mind of a loremaster, so that he could sing of them.

He spoke no word of this to anyone, and to the Elf least of all. Even if he would lay open the secrets of his people, what profit could there be in exposing himself to the scorn that would inevitably follow such a revelation? An Elf would no more pledge himself to what he likely called one of the "stunted people" than a Khuzd would to a gangly Elf who knew nothing of stone; besides which, Gimli wasn't entirely sure that male Elves did pledge themselves to each other as was custom among the Khazâd. He did not know their ways well enough to say, and knew of no one he could ask.

Perhaps a fortnight into their journey, he passed the watch to young Master Peregrin and searched for a place to spread his bedroll. The meagre cover provided by the scrubland of Hollin offered little choice, but finally he settled on a small dell perhaps a yard from Legolas, and two from Boromir. He had found, to his dismay, that he also slept more soundly when the Elf was near at hand.

He had thought that Legolas was sleeping, in that wide-eyed, staring way of the Elves–and how Men ever married Elvish women, as they sometimes did, Gimli did not know; was it possible to rest in the embrace of someone who appeared as one dead?–yet as soon as Gimli settled, Legolas rose and carried his bedroll across the the shelter rock outcropping that Peregrin had just vacated. As Legolas settled between Meriadoc and Aragorn, Gimli pulled his hood down over his eyes and rolled so that his back was to Elf, Man and Hobbit alike.

He would be more careful from now on, and make sure to keep his distance from Legolas, especially in the camp. Clearly the Elf would rather sleep near an orc, and if Legolas noticed, than Tharkûn soon would and probably Aragorn as well. Gimli's stomach churned to think of how they would laugh at his folly, and it was a long time until he slept.


	3. Chapter 3

The excuse to walk with Tharkûn in the van came close to saving Gimli's sanity. Certainly, huddling under that cliff, struggling to stay as far away from Legolas as he could, despite the pull of his warmth, had done little for his piece of mind, and no more had standing shoulder to shoulder in the rush of the wolf attack with fire all around him. The purity of fighting beside Legolas–those eternal minutes he had forgotten that it was something neither of them wanted–completely overtook him, causing him to forget himself. Forget, at least, until the battle's end, when Legolas had speared Gimli with a glare before stalking off to look for arrows.

Now they had the length of the company between them, and though the world was perhaps dimmer, Gimli's heart rested more easily. Khazad-dûm lay before them, a place all of Gimli's race longed to see, and he would soon know the fate of kin long since lost to the knowledge of the folk of Lonely Mountain. The thrum of hope and anticipation kept his mind from all else as he strode forward, each step bringing him closer to legend.

"You have seemed troubled, of late, Master Gimli," Tharkûn said, with no cause that Gimli could see, though did any of his people ever speak without purpose?

Gimli glanced back, but they were a little ahead of the company, and Tharkûn was speaking low. "Are not we all, in these times?" Gimli asked.

"We all have reason to be," Tharkûn agreed placidly, giving Gimli a moment's hope that he would fail to press. He did not. "Some more than others, perhaps."

"As you say," Gimli said. He had heard enough from his father about meddling wizards to know that he didn't want to play games with one.

"You and Legolas fought well together," Tharkûn said. "Some worried that the history between your houses would set you too deeply at odds to travel together." He held up a hand to subdue the growl rising from Gimli's throat. "Nay, be still, Master Dwarf. I was at the Battle of Five Armies and know the truth of the matter. These are indeed times of great trouble and toil, and each people will do what it must for the preservation of all."

Gimli said nothing, unsure at what mark the wizard bent his aim, and unwilling to move lest he stand in front of it. Again, silence rested between them, but now Gimli knew that Tharkûn had not yet finished with him.

They came to a gully, what should have been a tributary to the Gate-stream, but now lay empty. Tharkûn's long stride easily carried him over, while Gimli stomped down and through. As they paused to make sure the Hobbits crossed without mishap, Tharkûn said, "In all my days, I have never seen Dwarf and Elf move together with such grace, nor had I ever thought I would."

If Gimli shivered, he told himself it was in sympathy with Master Peregrin as he pulled his cloak more tightly about himself as the wind whipped down from the snowy peaks.

Tharkûn could not know. No one knew, not even the Elf. Or could he? Even Khuzdul songs did not make claims as to how many ages the wizards had walked Middle-Earth. Gimli felt the truth rising up from his heart, ready to pour out of him, ready to make him beg Tharkûn to tell him all he knew of souls and they way they might be knitted together, if he'd heard aught of such a thing between races, if the bonds could be broken and Gimli saved.

He clenched his jaw, making his beard bristle out, and turned away from the stream. He would not expose himself, and he would not betray the secrets of his people.

Then Aragorn came up to ask something of Tharkûn, and Gimli stepped away, escaping over the next ridge, his steps taking him ever closer to Khazad-dûm.

* * *

When Gimli had been a stripling, Balin had tried to convince Glóin that he was ready to journey east on the quest re-establish Thorin Oakenshield as King Under the Mountain. Ori had taught him fine penmanship, and Óin had shown how to get the cut an edge on adamant crisp enough to outshine a star.

All dead now.

He should have gone with them. He should have acted as true kin and died beside them. Perhaps he would now, with orcs at the door, and no way out. He was trapped, just as they had been, separated only by years, and maybe that was as it ought to be. Gimli faced the door, eyes still in shadow, and rested his hand on his axe. Yes. He would fight to protect Balin's tomb, and he would die there.

For the first time since he'd walked into Elrond's great council, the colour of the world made not the slightest difference, and he cared not how warm or cool the earth was. The song of battle was enough, as it should be for any Khuzd.

Or so he thought. Legolas' hand was on him like a brand, filling him with warmth and light capable of drowning out aught else. First Legolas–his soulmate willed he or no–then the rest of the company returned to his sight. He saw Tharkûn waving them out ahead of him, and saw the Hobbits all huddled together save Frodo limp in Aragorn's arms, and he remembered his oath. It wasn't his family's honour that bound him now, but his sworn company.

Gimli broke away from the final resting place of Balin son of Fundin, and run with the others down the passageway. It wasn't until they waited on the stairs, listening in grim silence to Tharkûn's cries above them, that he realised that he had marked the first time Legolas had laid hand on him.


	4. Chapter 4

Though Glóin had constantly found need to send Fili and Kili up crags and into air shafts to retrieve young his young son from his latest adventure, Gimli had never before been in a tree. He decided that it could have been worse, though he liked neither the rail-less platform of the Galadhrim, which struck him as too slightly built, nor the sway of the wind.

Yet he felt weary to the bone, stricken with both violence and grief, and would not give up this chance at sleep. He pulled his hood low, lay on the bare wood, and turned toward the largest supporting bough, which rose above them and vanished into the darkness. It could be not unlike a support pillar in a cavern, he supposed. He would not let the movement of the branches disturb him, nor the memory of how very far he had climbed to reach this place.

Legolas sat down not two yards distant. Gimli heard not a sound, but he felt the warmth of their bond, and knew that were he to open his eyes again, he would see far better in this darkness than any Khuzd ought. He raised his head, listening, and heard the scuff of boots as both Aragorn and Boromir settled on the far side of the platform. Boromir still argued in low-voiced anger that they ought not have to allowed the halflings out of their sight, and Aragorn persisted yet more softly that there was no danger in this place.

Gimli considered rolling over and wrapping his entire body around Legolas' waist. The memory of his soulmate's hands on him, pulling him away from the tomb, stayed with him, and he yearned for that warmth now. He knew that if they lay together, the world around them would catch fire and the stars would sing. Even sleeping near, as innocently as children, he would rest more deeply than he ever could alone. 

Yet Gimli well knew that he could not take that liberty. How bitter that each intimacy they shared both heightened their bond and caused Gimli to feel his loneliness more deeply.. More bitter still that Tharkûn had died and Gimli had never taken the chance to ask him if he knew aught of the bond of Khazâd and Elves. He felt selfish for even considering that now, when all their griefs ran so deep. He should consider the little ones first, for they had not known such a wrenching loss before, only the little tragedies of a peaceful people.

He was listening so intently that he did hear the rustle of Legolas' tunic as he lay next to Gimli. Legolas who hadn't said a thing to help the Hobbits in their distress, not until later when he'd sung the tragic songs that Elf-kin loved so much. He who hadn't wished to look on Kheled-zâram. Gimli felt the old, deep-seated resentment rise up: at Legolas, at Mahal for bonding them, and at himself for caring only for himself in the same fashion he silently accused Legolas of doing.

"You need not lie so close, Master Elf," he said. His breath barely passed his lips, so careful was he not to alert the Men, but Legolas heard him.

"It is not by any choice of mine," he rejoined, and had he not been whispering he would have snarled. "I am charged with your keeping."

"Indeed, you can scarce bear my company," Gimli replied, only just keeping his voice in check. "Since we left Rivendell two fortnights past, you have spurned me, though I have done naught to either you or your kin. I had not credited that your hatred of my people could run so deep."

For a time Legolas did not speak, but lay as though finely-graven stone. Gimli still faced the tree-trunk, but could imagine him lying supine, hands folded on his breast. "I hate not your people," Legolas said at last, "though neither do I bare them any great love."

Gimli wanted to ask what, in that case, he had done to inspire such a depth of malice, but he remembered well Legolas pulling him away from his death in Khazad-dûm. Had that been purely to preserve his axe and his guidance in that dark place? Or perhaps out of duty of his oath of fellowship, which he had remembered when Gimli had not. Certainly not in affection, or even camaraderie.

"You can keep your watch just as well from the far side of the platform," Gimli replied, after nearly as long a pause. "You need not trouble yourself with such–" he broke off, words for once failing him. What could he state as Legolas' objection, when he did not know it himself. Indeed, for what reason had the Galadhrim ordered a watch put on him? Did they suspect he would climb down to the forest floor and ally himself with the nearest band of orcs, or perhaps go back to Khazad-dûm only to return with Durin's Bane at his heels? Was that why Legolas had placed his body between Gimli and the ladder?

"Move if you care to," Legolas snapped, and now his voice raised enough that Gimli heard a catch in the Men's argument. They both remained silent until Boromir took up his cause anew, and Aragorn sighed wearily.

"I was here first," Gimli growled, and pulled his cloak more tightly about him. He could not believe that not minutes before he'd wanted to embrace that cursed Elf. Soulmate or not, if Legolas touched him now, Gimli would shove him over the edge.

Legolas neither replied nor departed, and Gimli ignored him until he went to sleep. His dreams were calmer than they should have been, again wrapped in the warmth and peace of their bond.

When he woke, he'd rolled to face the place where Legolas had lain, though the Elf was nowhere to be seen.

Later, when they all were led blindfolded through the woods, Legolas' curse still ringing in his ears, Gimli wondered how even a chain of Mahal's own forging could hold against the hatred of an entire race.


	5. Chapter 5

In the heart of Lothlórien, with Aragorn sleeping, Boromir attempting to remain watchful yet drifting off nonetheless, and the Hobbits together in a clump at the centre of the pavilion, Legolas left them. The world dimmed again, but Gimli cared not.

He had looked into the eyes of a terrifying and beautiful lady, and she had seen straight to his heart. She had seen him in a way that he now thought Tharkûn had before, but unlike the Wizard, Galadriel had shown him that she had understood, and that she welcomed him for all that she saw his greatest weaknesses.

Gimli wished he could weep, but he felt hollowed out and striped of tears and aught else. He could not think of what she had seemed to offer him. He could not sleep, and told Boromir that he would sit watch.

Sometime later, as the evening shadows lengthened, Legolas returned. When he saw Gimli still awake, he hesitated at the edge of the pavilion, seeming as one caught with a hand on another's hoard.

Gimli sighed and considered whether feigning sleep or wandering the woods by himself would be most likely to shake his soulmate's company, but he had not come to a decision when Legolas made his own resolve and spoke.

"Would you walk a while with me, Gimli son of Glóin?"

Gimli blinked. His first thought was of an enemy asking him to go apart from his allies, but he second was of the Lady of the Woods' kindness. None of them would shed blood in this place, and Legolas would not betray his vow, no matter how deep his hatred. "Yes, let us speak," he said, and pushed himself to his feet. He had not known his weariness until that moment, but set his need aside and continued on.

They walked together, and Gimli saw the Golden Wood as he first had: each leave glowing and every colour pure. If this were the evening, he would that he'd seen the noontide of this place. He knew that if he asked the Galadhrim, they would respond in verse, and he better understood their need for poetry now. These were not Durin's mighty halls, but they held the same renown.

When they'd gone away from the rest, far from even the other Elves, they came to a shaded brook its bank deep in moss.

There Legolas paused, and turned. "Would you know what the Lady offered me?"

Gimli would indeed, but he replied, "Your desires are none of my affair."

Legolas sighed, a small shake of his shoulders that Gimli would not have noticed when first they met. "Your affairs are irrevocably entwined with my own, more than you could understand, I deem. Yet the Lady offered me an escape; she seemed to tell me that were I to give up this quest and return to the Green Wood, that the bond would be broken forever and I would have anew my own soul."

"The bond?" Gimli demanded. What could an Elf know of such matters? Clearly nothing at all if he had even the slightest hope that it might be broken. Bonds of Mahal's making were never sundered, not by miles, not by time, and certainly not by Elvish enchantment.

"What could one of the stunted people know of soul bonds? You who are adopted Children?" Legolas replied bitterly. "How could you understand how when in my rest as I walk the star ways, I always come to the strangeness of your dreams, or how your very nearness disturbs any peace I have ever felt. For the longer we journey together, the closer I cleave to you. When I look on you, I feel what you feel, as Fingon and Maedhros did. Yet so too I feel as Thingol to Melian, knowing that while I am bound, and you are free. I know that bonds are only for the few, that those chosen are marked for high honours, yet I do not count myself blessed. I will not be a vine twisting itself awry, trying to climb around a phantom and plunging to its doom for want of another." He stopped, lips tightening, clearly having said more than he intended. Then he grimaced and continued, "when this work is done, I will apply to Círdan the Shipwright and take up an abode three hundred leagues from your mountain, and never dream of caves again."

"Well and good," Gimli said, but he found himself reeling. What was this of dreams? What of nearness? He should not have spent all those months in Rivendell avoiding Elven lore. "I will rejoice to be away from your curses and your malice, even if–" he stopped himself there. Legolas might speak freely, but Gimli would not. He had almost said, _even if it means I shall never see light nor feel warmth again._ "Even if I must be the one to travel with Boromir to Minas Tirth, and take up my home there," he finished, even knowing the break was clear, and his ending unsatisfactory.

Legolas nodded, and opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and turned away, standing stock still as though his anger had frozen him like ice. Gimli sat heavily on the bank, pulled off his boots, and stuck his feet in the brook, letting the water sooth him. He had not the will to return to the others, nor to try and engage the thrice-cursed Elf, so he sat on the moss and listened to the wind in the leaves and the distant call of birds.

After some time, Legolas returned and crouched next to Gimli. "I regret that I spoke in anger," he said, his voice low and far more gentle than Gimli had heard before, directed at him in any case. "My troubles are not of your doing, and my distance but vain hope of preservation. I am sorry. We must make some treaty between us if our part the quest is to continue."

"Aye," Gimli said. "Gandalf said as much, before we entered Khazad-dûm. I hoped truce might be within my means, then." Now, after all that had been spoken, he did not know.

"We fought well together," Legolas admitted, "against the wolves, and later in Moria." And then Legolas had sat watch over him as though he were that sneak Gollum, and wished a plague upon him. Had that been in hope of preservation as well?

"You saved my life," Gimli said. "That is no small thing to my people. I will not forget it." He would not be able to forget either the blaze of light that accompanied it, for now he would surely never experience it again, and nor could he speak of it to an outsider, soulmate or no.

Legolas said nothing, but sat on the bank only a few handspans from Gimli, legs crossed so that his feet did not touch the water. Gimli darkly wondered if that was because he would not touch even water that Gimli had touched, but kept his peace. He let the feeling of the woods wash over him, rejoicing in every touch and every small sound. He would soak in the sun wrought iron, if he could. This too he might never feel again, or would never feel after their goal was accomplished and the company parted.

"I thought–" Legolas stopped. Then he turned and put his hand on Gimli's shoulder, pushing him around until their eyes met. "I thought you despised me, and all my people as well. Or do you still, despite your debt?"

Gimli would have liked to say that Elves were certainly not his best beloved of the allied races, especially not following the events of the night before and that morning, yet he could not bring himself to speak of that now. He leaned into Legolas' touch and bowed his head. At last, he was defeated, and with a single touch. "No," he said hoarsely. "I do not despise you. I could not. When I strive to turn my thoughts against you, my very heart betrays me will."

"When the Lady looked into your eyes," Legolas asked, voice a whisper, "what did you see."

"You would not care to hear it," Gimli told him, but in fairness Legolas had told him the ugly truth in his heart, and now he was reaching out, attempting to find some accord between them. When Legolas neither affirmed nor denied his words, Gimli took a great breath before continuing, "she seemed to promise that she could make us whole. If I would but stay here in the Golden Wood, she would force you to tarry, and we could–" Again he could not finish, but this time because the grief at his sacrifice rose up to choke him. Who among the Khazâd of the Lonely Mountain could have considered that what Gimli son of Glóin might want above all things was to settle in an enchanted forest of the Elves and take one of their people to his heart. Not Gimli, a season past, and yet....

"You would have that?" Legolas asked, hushed and sombre.

"Yes," Gimli said. "Both our hearts yearn for the impossible." Perhaps that was the bond as well, forcing them to some dark likeness.

"Ai," Legolas keened, long and low, as if his own heart were broken. He tipped his head forward so that their brows touched. His skin felt cool against Gimli's, yet Gimli's heart started to pound and his vision swam. The world seemed at once close in every detail and distant. "So it is done," Legolas said at last, pulling away. He sounded weary beyond speech.

"Aye," Gimli agreed. "It is."

"And what of us?"

"Should we survive the coming trials, I shall return to my people, and you to yours."

"And we speak of this to no one."

And live without true light until I die, Gimli thought, and assumed Legolas was thinking of walking his uncanny dreams for centuries to come. "And never marry."

Legolas said nothing. Of course, he would outlive Gimli, perhaps by thousands of years. Might the bond break in death for Elves, even if it did not for Khazâd? Gimli feared the answer, that it might be, and that it might not be. Most of all that Legolas might spend an eternity wrapped in one half of a shattered chain. How could he allow that?

"Yet, perhaps," Gimli said slowly, working out each word in advance, not daring to put a foot wrong on this ground, "perhaps we might accept the burden fate has laid on us– _laid on both of us_ , mark–and find it lighter for sharing."

"Perhaps," Legolas said, just as tentative. He had started at Gimli's words, and now watched him carefully, perhaps even hopefully. "Could we make a trial of it?"

Gimli reached up and rested his palm on Legolas' odd, beardless face. His eyes really were quite beautiful, or the bond made them so. Who could know?

Legolas put his hand on Gimli's shoulder, making them a closed circle. Gimli's whole body tingled and burned for Legolas, and light filled the world. "And if we like it not?" Legolas asked, laughter in his voice now.

"I depart for Minas Tirith, and you to Mithlond," Gimli replied, but he knew neither of their hearts believed it.

"A trial then," Legolas said again.

"Yes," said Gimli, and kissed him.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Caught by the Light [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9113983) by [juniperphoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniperphoenix/pseuds/juniperphoenix)




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